


His reputation precedes him

by Darling_Ghost



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Creepy, F/M, POV Cersei, season 7
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-12-04 15:37:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11558226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darling_Ghost/pseuds/Darling_Ghost
Summary: It had been so long since an ally had come to the Red Keep. Cersei didn't quite know what to expect.Season 7 retelling.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> cersei POV...much better if you read it with her voice in your ear.

It had been a long time since we’ve had a visitor of any import to King’s Landing.

Been a long time since _anything_ has happened.

Jaime keeps looking at me with this look, like he’s afraid I’m about to cry, or break. He doesn’t know that I’m about to burst into flames.

This is...insufferable.

He’s the only one left with me, the only one here, the only who matters, and he looks like he ages ten years every morn.

But the Greyjoy is coming.

We’ll see just what he has planned.

 

\--

 

I haven’t been out of the Red Keep in ages, months. Let the people wonder.  They say they’re starving on the streets. _Good._ Less mouths to feed. There is a chill in the air; Qyburn told me about the white raven. _Surprised he didn’t keep it._ White raven head mounted on his desk would be a relatively harmless curio, for him.

With the Greyjoy coming, the castle has shifted back into some semblance of movement, of normalcy.  I dressed this morning carefully.  The black suits me. It’s power, the leather is power; I didn’t realize how much time I had wasted on stupid frocks, and red, and gold.  Let it be black. I’ll wear black forever, if I can get my children back.

No. I’ll wear black forever, but now so that they don’t confuse me with someone that they can trifle with. Gold was power, but black is absolute power. The mines can run dry, gold can be spent... but the black night never ends. The leather is heavy and reminds me of who I am, protects me.

And even though my hair is shorn, it’s another reminder. My hair may be shorn but the people who did this, the fools...they’re all dead. Except for Unella. Gods know what has happened to her. I don't ask. I don't care. My hair may be shorn but I am still alive, they can take everything away from me and I’ll still live.

\---

Jaime is uneasy, I can feel it; I can feel his thoughts as if they were my own.

I don’t want them.

It’s too hard to close him off, though. He hasn’t touched me in moons. He doesn’t need to. He’s still wrapped up, under my skin.

I don’t want him. His face is drawn and looks more and more like father’s.  That pathetic hand, a reminder of his weakness.  And Myrcella, Myrcella died right under his nose, he couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

_Pathetic._

The Iron Throne is never comfortable. Robert had wanted to put a pillow on it, that fat bloated fuck. I don’t care. It’s not _supposed_ to be comfortable.

_When you’re comfortable, when you’re least expecting it, that’s when you die._

I shift one last time and wait, Jaime standing at my side. No one else will see my discomfort.

The Greyjoy does not disappoint. The door open and he moves, more urgency than I’ve seen anyone have around me in so long.

He’s strange. His eyes are popping out of his head, fairly; his face is covered with a light brown beard. Handsome, I suppose. No cloak; a cloak won’t do at sea and I can see the lines of his body through his trews, the top of his chest exposed, a leather coat over him.

I wonder if he smells like the sea, I wonder if he smells like the wood of the ships, or if he smells like the skin and muscles of a man.

 

Still, his reputation precedes him. He could be the only Greyjoy to amount to anything. The rest of them content to squabble on their little rocks, plunder and then retreat. This one has seen the world.

I don’t say a word as he approaches. Let him do the talking.

  
\---

 

“The moment when I was chosen the King of the Iron Islands, they turned on me. Their own uncle.” He was strangely casual, his stance fluid. He gave a laugh, as if I was a co-conspirator. “They stole my best ships and ran. Sailed right across the world and gave them to the dragon queen so she could bring her army to attack you.”

He pointed up at me, and stared.  I could feel Jaime stiffen beside me, like some old dusty lord, offended by Euron’s stance.

“It's nothing compared to the treason you suffered at your family's hand, so I hear.” His voice had softened for a moment, and then something else came into it, something darker, entwining with his smile, and his arms waved out, a madman. _A charming, smiling, madman._

“But still it bothers me..murdering them would make me feel a lot better. And since it appears that all our treasonous family members are fighting on the same side,” his face split into a suggestive smile, “I thought _we_ rightful monarchs could murder them together.”

He started to walk closer towards the throne, and before he could get past one step, Gregor moved. Euron halted. _Smart._

I could feel my pulse starting to race. Who was this Greyjoy?  And Jaime, Jaime could _feel_ it too, Jaime _knew_ when my blood quickened - for just as I started to enjoy the sensation he shifted and let his displeasure be known.

“You're not a rightful monarch, though, are you? The Greyjoys rebelled against the throne for the right to be a monarch...but if I recall, you were soundly defeated. Come to mention it, weren't you the one that started that rebellion by sailing to Casterly rock and burning the Lannister fleet? You certainly caught us there, very smart move on your part.”

Euron bowed, he actually bowed and smiled. Jaime sniffed, and started to sound more and more pompous, like the fucking dusty knights of Robert’s Kingsguard. “Of course, we made it to the Iron Islands, anyhow. I was there.”

Euron’s eyebrows raised and he got that grin on his face, focusing his charm on Jaime. “I remember very well. I saw you. I heard so much talk, _the best in the world, no one could stop him..._ I didn't believe it to be honest, but I must say when you rushed thru the breach and started cutting people down... then I saw it…” He whispered. “It was glorious, like a dance…”

Jaime, his honor choking his throat, could hardly sputter against this impudent foe. “The people I was cutting down were your _own kin_ …”

Euron gave that smile again and I could feel it, I could feel it against me, that wide smile, treacherous. "Place was getting crowded, I enjoyed watching it."

Jaime bristled. “I enjoyed killing Greyjoys.”

“Good thing for me. if you hadn't crushed us, I wouldn't have gone into exile.” The madman’s smile widened, pride, a smirk. “If I hadn't done that, I wouldn't be the greatest captain on the fourteen seas.”

 _A very unlikely ally_. But look where our traditional allies had gotten us - they’d left us as soon as they had a chance. This one might be different. The thought of his ships, and something else about him, fascinated me, that cocksure stance, that charming smile. _Compelling._  

I didn’t look at him. _Let him guess._  I turned to Jaime, fussy, jealous Jaime. “He's not the most humble.”

His eyes burned and he focused on me, just on me, and I could feel my breathing start to get deeper, unbidden. “You're not humble. You’re the queen of a great nation. You don't care about the Iron Islands. They're nothing but rocks and birdshit and a lot of….very unattractive people.” No one dared speak to me that way. That madman smile again. It was...hard to look away from.

“The iron fleet, on the other hand, is something else entirely.”

It did not escape me that when he started to talk about his fleet, that, that was the only time his voice became serious, reverent.

“It's the greatest armada Westeros has ever seen. With the Iron fleet you own the seas. You can defeat the invaders in the east and the pretenders in the north and south.”

His voice turned from crashing waves into the sweet, soft foam that caresses the shore.

I gripped the side of the throne. So tempting. All of it. I summoned my power. I’m a Lannister - pretty words are not enough, as delightful as they may be. “What do you want in return.”

He smiled again, and his body moved, animated. “When I was a little boy I wanted to grow up and marry the most beautiful woman in the world.

_That, that is it._

He continued and his eyes narrowed, his smile got even wider and he spread his hands as if to bade me look at him, all of him.  He was compelling.

“So here I am.  With a thousand ships... and two good hands.”

I sucked my breath in and gripped more tightly, aware that somewhere, underneath the black silks and leather, just above the Valyrian iron of my throne, mine, that my cunt pulsed to his words.

 _Still._ I can’t make this too easy for him. I’m no fool, I’m no one’s fool. He’s going to need to work for this.  I can feel Jaime ready to strike, poor, fussy Jaime. I don’t care.

But Euron, right in front of me, a suggestive look in his eye, brave and mad with the rows of my soldiers ready to take him out, is waiting...expectantly.

 

He’s going to have to prove himself to me. Besides, this could be both profitable _and_ amusing. I’m tensed on the throne; my fingers are clutching and only the gods know that my body is ready underneath the black, underneath the silk and leather.

There isn’t any other sound in the Great Hall as I speak, and I make sure that my voice is low enough so as to be a whisper in Euron’s ear, a caress.  Let's see what he's made of. Let's see this madman fight for it. 

“I decline your proposal.”  


	2. Chapter 2

He wasn’t expecting that.

“Why?” Euron’s cockiness, his self-assuredness didn’t leave him, not yet - but I was pleased to see him take pause.

The fool, the arrogant fool, thinking that a Greyjoy can simply propose to a Lannister with some sweet words, that I would be so grateful...yes, Euron, wonder why I won’t run off with you right away.  Think about it...

I could feel Jaime next to me, almost audibly relaxing.

_Not so fast for you, either, sweet brother._

I stared down at him, at his face; all brawn and bluster reduced to that one word, still echoing through the Great Hall. None of this would mean anything to me, all of the ships in the world worthless, if there was no loyalty behind their master. If I was not the true Queen of those ships. I let the steel enter my voice, quieted it so that again he’d have to listen, _listen carefully._

“You're not trustworthy.  You've broken promises to allies before, and killed them at the earliest opportunity. You murdered your brother.”

He started smiling again and raised his eyebrows as he answered.

“You should try it. Feels wonderful.” He smirked again and I half expected Jaime to draw his steel, run him through.

His next words, however, caught me off guard, and I could feel the smile stretch across my face as he spoke. “I don't expect you to trust me outright. You need proof. In my experience the surest way to a woman's heart is to give a gift. A priceless gift. I won't return to king's landing until I have that for you.”

His face was serious, as serious as he could be, and he whirled without any further formalities to walk out the door of the Great Hall.

He was unlike anyone else I had ever met, poisonous damp Greyjoy or not.

“Wait.” For the first time today my voice came out like a command and it echoed against the walls.  He halted, and in that fluid motion, that careless, almost jaunty movement, he turned to face me.

“Come here.”  I spoke clearly, slowly. Jaime reached out to stop me, _but fuck Jaime, fuck him if he could not give me what I want, fuck him completely._

I stood up, mercifully, from that iron seat and walked to him, making sure that the sound of my steps rung off the walls, watching as my soldiers straightened as I walked by.  The finest army in the land, _mine_ \- and he saw it too, realization spreading across his face as I walked up to him.

“You’ll stay this evening. You’ll dine with me, talk to me. A priceless gift, yes - but first, you’ll tell me about your intentions, tell me what else you know about your kin and the Dragon Queen.”  It was a command.

A command he intended to obey. A sly look came across his face and he held his arm out for me.

I hesitated to take it and heard Jaime behind me, heard his cloak whirl as he walked up closer to me.

 _He is nothing to me, he is my Queensguard, that is all, that is all._..and in defiance I took Euron’s arm and we walked out of the hall together.  How dare he, how dare he try to claim me now. If he hadn’t been so weak...

Euron smelled like the sea; he smelled like the leather over him, a ripeness emanating from him. A wildness. He’d gingerly taken my arm, at first, and as our steps moved in time I felt him gripping harder, and harder.

_That would not do._

“You’ve never been to the Red Keep before, have you?” I murmured. “Let me show you, show you a few things.”  I steered him into the middle bailey, passing by the Sept.

“Would you like to pray, here? Or perhaps the Godswood is more to your taste?” I sneered. His religion, made up of dead and dying sea creatures; none of that _here._

He laughed again, and as he looked at me with that strange humor again. So close up, I could see that his lips were tinged with blue.

“There’s not enough room in your Godswood or in your Sept, I’m afraid, my queen. I’ve prayed to thousands of gods; I’ve prayed to all of the gods, every god I could find in all the lands I’ve seen. Seems as if you might think I have no religion.  No, it’s the opposite; I’ve got too much religion.”

We kept walking. He squeezed my arm again and laughed, just a drip of sarcasm in his voice.  “I hear you _do_ have a thing for septs, however.  When I heard about the tragedy of the Sept of Baelor, it was enough to make a tear fall from my eye.”

_I stiffened. What has he heard._

But I realized that there was a tinge of admiration in his voice. _By any means necessary._ He was wily, alright.

“I didn’t realize that you’d _heard_ anything, while you were on the seas, Euron - legend has it that your crew is unwhole, each man missing his tongue.”

He shrugged. A madman. “Sometimes you just need to have some peace and quiet. That’s all.” He grinned again and leaned in; the smell of ocean was nearly too much.

Brutal. _Brutal to his sworn men, even more brutal to his enemies._ And after all of that he held the greatest fleet in Westeros, possibly in even in the east.

If there was any loyalty underneath him, to tame that brutality, he’d be a worthy ally indeed. After all of the softness, the hesitance; my father and now Jaime...a little brutality could be quite useful. He was powerful; a different way, but he had a power all the same, borne of that brutality. He wasn’t afraid of it. He channeled it, used it. _More and more interesting by the minute._

_But as a husband?_

I could still feel Jaime behind me; he’d stayed silent the whole time, thank the seven, but I could hear him, worrying and fretting and angry behind me, nearly apoplectic with the thought of keeping this Greyjoy in the keep for longer than he needed to be.

_Dear brother...if only you hadn’t been so weak.._

We had made it to the stairs of the holdfast. Enough of this, enough. I needed to collect myself, I needed to think. And to sit, goblet in hand, and consider the evening. Prepare.

“My page will show you to your chamber for the evening. Supper will be served within the watch. You’ll join me. Your men…?”

“Ah, I don’t need to travel with a bunch of mummers behind me, tailing on my every movement. They’re in your fine city, right now, probably working their way through each and every brothel, making up for lost time. It’s been a while since we’ve been on land.  And the women of King’s Landing - quite a sight, I must say, the most beautiful woman on earth standing in front of me, to be sure.”

His eyes glinted and he looked at me - he looked at me, he looked through me; _a challenge._

I raised my head. One thing for him to learn: no man challenges me, not even with a smile on his face. But my body disobeyed; I felt my skin prickle under his eyes, still the damp heat below, and I steeled my face so that it would not belie the sensations, even as I clenched my thighs to heighten them. “Very well. Coins for our coffers, I suppose. Don’t do anything foolish, if that’s at all possible, before we dine tonight.”

He bowed, a great ragged bow, his arms akimbo but his eyes were fixed on me and I could feel them raking up and down me as he bent and then straightened, staring at me for a heartbeat too long.

“Foolish? Now, squandering even the most remote possibility to spend an evening with you, that would be foolish.  You said your page would show me up to my chambers? Is that you?”

With this he turned to Jaime and grinned, and I had to stifle a laugh as my brother’s face tightened.

“Ser Jaime, show him to his chambers. I will be just fine under Gregor’s protection.”   

Jaime’s face went white. My page indeed. I didn’t need Jaime following me to my quarters, at any rate.

I turned and walked off, the satisfying sound of Gregor Clegane thumping behind me, and the image of Euron’s mocking face and Jaime, mouth open, imprinting in my head.

_Yes, a long time since anything has happened in the Red Keep indeed._

I’d look forward to dinner, this evening, for once.

 


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as I walked away from him my mind started to connect all the different ways that the Greyjoy could be of use.  

Jaime was right, and he was wrong. Our power had been diminished, but not vanquished. No. The realm was still ours. Traitors to the East, to the West, to the North and to the South...and only a handful of houses that we could still count on.

Their loyalty had blown away in the wind. They were traitors to the throne and to the realm.  They would pay for their treason in blood, and the blood of their heirs.  _ Fools. _ Such a small price for me to extract from them. And all I had to do was reach out and take their bannermen, whoever was still loyal to the Lannister name.  

And with a thousand ships...suddenly my reach became much, much larger. 

I could hear Gregor behind me as I entered my rooms, and he halted at the doors to my suite, closed them behind me. 

I pulled the latch. I did not want Jaime, right now, not yet anyhow. Where is he, anyhow - he should be here - even if I don’t want him in the room, he still should be here, stand outside and wait. 

He’s probably fighting with that Greyjoy. I didn’t trust Jaime completely, not yet - but I trusted him enough to not scuttle the deal without me. 

After all, he’d seen me married before.

He’d tried to talk me out of it; he started to sound like that fool Stark, braying about winter, talking about our reserves, our feed.   _ Reason, he said. _ The Stark wasn’t bold, he had played it safe and his head rotted on a pike for all of his honor.  My beloved brother needed to see reason, my reason, that the only way to gain power was with power. 

Wine. I needed wine. And to prepare myself. 

I dressed for dinner. Where the armor of the black leather suited me for the throne, tonight I had other plans, other needs. I saw how Euron looked at me, even if his words were a lie, they were wrapped in truth: I was beautiful, still beautiful, and tonight, let him see me. The gown chosen was still black but smaller, softer; I traced the line of my collarbone, felt another flutter. 

_ After all, I could be dining with my future husband.  _

Euron had a wildness about him, he was murderous, savage. Uncouth. Filthy. Handsome enough, perhaps, under the leather and the mocking laugh. He’d pulled out his best manners in the Great Hall, and even then his limbs betrayed him, his laugh crackling through the room as he listened, as he mocked. 

I hissed, felt my skin tighten over my knuckles. The fucking Greyjoys.  _ How could he be trusted.  _

He did mention the gift. 

Of course. Something priceless. As befits one who wants to sit on the Iron Throne, with me. 

I heard Jaime walking up and I filled my goblet again, steel myself. 

The door clanged and the latch held. 

My chambermaid opened it and vanished again, a scared little girl, barely worth the food it took to keep her.  I waved her out as Jaime walked in.  We needed to be alone. 

“I will assume that you left the Greyjoy in one piece,” I purred, feeling my claws around the goblet. Lion claws. 

“Cersei...this is madness. The Greyjoys can’t be trusted, and he’s the worst of them. He’ll slit your throat as soon as he can.  It’s not worth it. Wait out the winter. Westeros will still be exactly as it is right now - no one can fight in the winter, not even the Starks.”  Jaime looked weary, but he’d lost the fustiness that he had earlier with Euron in the room.  His eyes were pleading with me and I could feel myself start to crack, when he looked at me like that…his eyes had roamed down my form;  _ this is not for you, dear Jaime... _

“No.” I stood up. I will not be talked out of this. 

“Sometimes in precarious situations you have to take risks. You used to understand this. You used to be fearless. Greyjoy’s fleet is an asset. Besides, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself once he finished. He’d come back to King’s Landing and spirit off again. Can you imagine a Greyjoy on the Iron Throne?”

I laughed, sharp. It  _ was _ ludicrous, ludicrous. 

“Besides. There’s no reason to keep him around, once he returns.” I raised an eyebrow and tilted my cup back, the wine now enough to warm up my belly. 

Jaime leaned back, the smile that came to his face not enough to mask the worried look in his eyes. 

“We can’t kill everyone, Cersei. And if they take the knee to Euron and then he’s gone, there’s no guarantee that they’ll stay loyal.”  He rubbed his hand through his hair; I saw the grey streaks, I saw the lines on his forehead. 

_ Oh Jaime.  _ “He’s either loyal to me, or he’s dead. There are no other alternatives, once we enter into an agreement.”

Jaime flinched.  _ An agreement. An agreement of marriage, uniting the Lion of the lands with the Kraken of the sea, invincible.  _

And I know a Kraken can not survive on land.  Jaime’s too cautious to realize this. 

“Come. My guest is expecting me. We will call the bannermen of the Reach; send ravens. Send it to all of them. Remind them who the true ruler of the seven kingdoms is and have them come to the Red Keep in one moon.  That should give us enough time to prepare. I want to see who we have left, who we’re dealing with.”

His mouth opened and closed and for a moment I wanted to shake him, to scream. 

“I command it, Ser Jaime.” Instead, I let my voice drip with ice. 

No one would stand in my way, not even Jaime. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm the fucking queen...of short-ass chapters right now while I try to coax my mojo into staying for a while. sorry, but 1k words is better than noK words. I think. 
> 
> let me know what you think. cersei in first person pov, bleagh.


	4. Chapter 4

He wasn’t waiting for me at the dining table.

I can feel my mouth twitch in irritation, even as I try to still it: I don’t suffer this, not for  _ anyone _ .  

I’ve given him a chance, a chance to dine with me.  Now the fool decides to make me wait. 

That was a mistake. This is a mistake. 

More irritating is Jaime’s smugness, wrapping around my throat like the chains that hold my heavy cloak. I can hear him shift from foot to foot, hear his golden hand, his useless golden hand, as it clunks up against his scabbard.

The fucking Greyjoy is late... _ and now Jaime gloats _ .  The Greyjoy is late, and now I’m here, exposed.  _  Never fucking trust a Greyjoy. _  Cling to their rocks, covered in salt...he doesn’t belong here.  This was a kindness, to ensure he didn’t sail out in the dark night, a test to see how it would be to sit with him down the table...

I collect myself, as best I can, until Jaime’s hand reaches my shoulder and I can hear my breath hiss through my teeth.  He still doesn’t remove his hand, his good hand, and I can feel it on my shoulder, feel it reach right through me. 

And the sound of the doors, clanging open, and the neat movements of the line of soldiers - my soldiers, bidden to protect me - Euron Greyjoy strode into the hall.

_ Oh, he’d been out in Kings Landing, alright; the way he moved, it was like a wave itself, everything moving just to crash on himself, drunk. He’s drunk.  _

Jaime’s hand moved off my shoulder and I knew, I knew without looking that he had stiffened, stiffened into a column of muscle and sinew behind me.

I merely stared at the Greyjoy and waited; he bent, slightly, at the waist and curled his head up to look at me, those insolent eyes, looking at me, assessing me.

_ But he had bent the knee..whether he meant to, or not, that bow...at least the Greyjoy knew his place.  _

“How kind, that you decided to join me.”  

“Am I late?  Didn’t realize that I’d leave you in such poor company.” He arched his eyebrow at Jaime and then smiled insouciantly, the sharp tips of his teeth visible. “At least if he had a golden leg he could do a mummer’s jig with it.” _ _

I watched as his body moved upright, and before he could say a word, before he could say a fucking word I put my goblet down. 

“So kind of you to join us.  Ser. although you’re not exactly a Ser, are you?” My lips were pressed together, I could feel my face warm from the wine. 

“Ah, there she is. The most beautiful woman in the seven kingdoms, waiting for me. I can only hope” - his voice, flattering me, waiting to see if I’d hear him - “I can only hope that I did not leave you waiting for too long.” 

He had a strange urgency about him, he had a different cadence than what I was used to; it was... insolent. It was irritant and unsettling. Presumptive, for a fucking Greyjoy, to walk in here….

He looked at Jaime. “And your page, here to watch you eat dinner. Maybe you should leave. I would, if I were you.”

At this his face split into a wide smile, a madman’s smile and something else flashed behind his eyes. Oh the greed was still there; the impetuousness was still there, but there was something else,  _ something I could work with. _ ..

I felt Jaime’s hand stiffen - his one good hand, I could not help but think - I had to get rid of him. Nothing would come with him, sniffing and huffing behind me. “Ser Jaime, your service is no longer needed.” 

Gregor was a more than competent replacement anyhow, his hulking mass in the shadows, as always. 

Euron looked up at Jaime with the devil on his face. “Your guard here seems like he doesn’t want to leave. It’s as if..”

Between Jaime’s huffing and Euron’s smirking I could not take it. 

“That will do, Jaime. _ And you _ . You poor thing. You must have gotten lost. I quite expected you a watch ago.”

I could hear Jaime’s voice start to rise, hear it all coming to a head. I don’t need this. 

What I  _ need _ is to see if the Greyjoy is a suitable ally.  _ Alone.  _

My hand raises and without looking I wave my Queensguard off.  Jaime needs to leave. 

I pretend that I don’t see the triumph on the Greyjoy’s face. For mercy’s sake, he’s quiet now, at least, while Jaime’s footsteps echo angrily and then the sound diminishes.

We’re alone. Almost. 

“The most beautiful woman in the seven kingdoms, all to myself.”  Euron is still moving, fluid; when he sits down in the chair opposite me I half wonder if he’d be able to stay seated, or if he’ll start crawling over the table. 

Really. A Greyjoy.

“Almost all to yourself. Although Gregor, here, is never far from my side.”  I gesture at Gregor. 

With our guest seated, the servants come forth: platters and trenchers of meat, some of the nicer greens from the village nearby, just brought in.  Bread, and more wine. 

I allow the servant girl to fill my glass, too slowly. 

Euron leans over.  “Here I was hoping that you’d been thinking about my proposal all afternoon.  But it looks like you’re just thirsty.”  

I don’t answer him right away.  Let him wait. I take another drink of wine and feel it, warm and comforting down my throat; feel my face become serene and then I turn to him. 

“I have been thinking about it, actually. Wondering just how on earth this has come to pass, where I’m entertaining the notion of you.”

He sits up straighter and laughs again, and those arms wave around before settling on his own glass.  He drinks and then smiles, wiping a spot of wine from his mouth with his sleeve.  He stares at me, longer than is comfortable. 

I will not drop my gaze.  Not for anyone, and certainly not for him.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you? It’s quite legendary. How big my - “

“No.” I cut him off. Fucking Greyjoy. “Perhaps the legend isn’t quite all it’s made out to be.”

He laughs again. Maniac.  

And then he turns serious. 

“Cersei.” I stiffen at the lack of title, of formality; only Jaime calls me Cersei now.

“Cersei. I am quite serious about your gift. And I am serious about marrying you.  A priceless gift.  What is it that you want, the most, in your heart?”

I close my eyes. I can only see golden hair, an easy laugh; pretty manners, a sweet girl doting on Tommen, coming to me with blue eyes the color of the sea.

_ Oh Myrcella you did not deserve this, any of this… _

“My daughter. I want my daughter back. Tell me, can your priceless gift bring her back from the ashes?”

“My queen.” His voice sounded softer. “My queen - I can not bring  _ her _ back to you.”

“ _ ‘What is dead may never die _ …’” The words, sing-songing out of my mouth, mocking.

“Sometimes what is dead, stays dead.  And that is good for you, and for me. I can’t bring your daughter back, but that means that those who were foolish enough to oppose you will never come back. You’ve taken all of your enemies, reached out and taken them out of your way.”

I look at his face; his forehead is creased, his eyes big and blue, the smile really never leaving them, even now when he is at his most composed, even when they looked at me as they did now, warming. 

“I need only to reach out and take what is mine, and I intend to do that.”  I exhale. The moment of weakness, of emotion, is gone. 

Euron reached for my hand and I watched as it covered my own; scarred and tan, the fingers thick, a jade ring wrapped around one of them.

“That’s why I want you as my wife. You’re not afraid. You’re not humble. You know who you are.

You’re the queen. And I like that, I like that quite a bit.”

His finger had moved to the meat of my palm and pushed up against it, nudging it, and again I smelled him as he got closer, not letting me look away from him. 

Gregor uneasily moved behind me, waiting for a command. 

“And you’ve never backed down from an enemy, have you?” I let him continue to touch my hand, his fingers wrapping into mine.“Why would I?” His face was closer, closer. 

I shuddered. And then I broke away from him.  

 

_ Enough.  _

 

“Come.” I stood up, and he stood at attention behind me, alert.

“When my queen gives a command, I listen.” His voice hissed and he laughed.

 

I ignored his words and walked out of the dining hall.  We turned, and then turned again until we entered the map room, Gregor clanking behind us. 

 

My kingdom, spread before me. My north and south. Mine, all of it. I wanted him to see it, I wanted to see if he understood just what I would be asking him to do, should his gift suffice. 

He walked along the edges dividing the blue sea from the earth, smiling as he jumped on the Iron islands, looking over at me.

“The entire realm. And I do want you to help me take it. Once I know I can trust you, that is.”  I purred and looked at him. “Pray, tell me what you would do first.”

His arms swung out wildly again and a low whistle came out of his mouth. “Can’t tell you that, now can I? I would hate to spoil the surprise.”  

_ That grin again.  _

“Surely you would share the plans for your naval dominance with your queen?” 

And then he reached out for my hand again and I almost gave it to him, until I remembered, remembered that he hadn’t earned it yet; his movements wheeled once he realized that he’d be denied, that mocking deep laugh again. 

“Oh, I look forward very much to sharing my dominance with the queen.”  He stood still and stared at me again, an aggressive look on his face and this time there was no mistaking the sudden roughness of his voice, the sudden narrowing of his eyes.

“Of course, nothing gives me more pleasure than when  _ someone  _ shares their dominance with me.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

The Greyjoy’s lecherous look turned dark, darker, and then he did something unexpected. 

 

_ He knelt. _

 

He knelt in front of me. 

It was so out of character, even for someone as unpredictable as he - I was caught unexpected. 

He stared up at me and I saw the small scars that tracked along his face; the blue orbs of his eyes were round against the white of his sclera.

“Queen Cersei.” His voice was soft. “Yes, I like that you know what you want.  And indeed, so do I.”

What was he thinking. I started to compose myself, to stand straighter. For a moment I wondered if I should call Gregor over and then I looked at the Greyjoy’s strange face, his smile knowing, cocky. The control I had felt earlier vanished. I had no need of it, now.

He reached for my foot, capturing the leather boot in his hand, reaching for the thin leather laces, that amused look on his face melting in with something else.

I found my voice, though it came out louder than I had hoped. 

“Gregor. Outside.”

_ If the Greyjoy wanted to worship, who was I to stop him? _

As Gregor clanked through the door the Greyjoy toyed with the laces, pulling the soft leather boot off, my foot in his hand, pale and pink and almost dwarfed by his hand.

“Every part of you is beautiful. Every single part.”

He moved his fingers around the arch of my foot and rubbed them around the heel, raising my foot to his mouth and letting his breath warm the top.

All the while on his knees, I could see his legs bent underneath him; I saw how the meat of his palm thickened where it met his wrist, the white heft of it; strange blue markings of a tattoo, savage, on his arm the brown hairs stood out from bulging muscle.  And the muscle moved each time he rubbed my foot, sinuous strokes along the tendons, deep and his fingers would flick and then he’d move them again.

I opened my mouth. 

This was unexpected. 

“Every part. A small taste of my queen…” he murmured and then he took his tongue and moved it around the biggest toe, sucking it in, his teeth against the skin, nipping and his fingers moving along to the smaller toes. 

The Greyjoy...no one had ever dared to do that to me, ever, and the feeling of his tongue and his breath on me along with the sight of him on his knees, his knees in front of me, his knees…

I throbbed.

He must have felt it, must have felt my muscles twitch, felt the heat move down the line of my leg and so he redoubled his efforts, his tongue hot, and then he pulled his mouth up and licked the line of my ankle.

_ Gods that feels so good. _

I needed to steady myself and clutched his head, fingers in his hair...how can this feel so good, so strange…

His tongue lilted up my calf and his teeth nibbled, nibbled on the line of my muscle, sucked in and out the softness around my leg, and one hand lifted my skirts just a bit so that he could put his mouth on the tender spot behind my knee.

I was moving, I could feel myself moving, move my heat towards his face, _ fucking Greyjoy… _

He sucked on the flesh, right there, below my thighs, below the searing heat of my cunt, too far from it all and I clutched his hair to keep myself from pulling his head up.

And then his warm mouth closed and I felt the tickle of the hair above his lips and he kissed the back of my knee and put my foot down and rose.

His face was flushed and his eyes were bright, impudent.

“A priceless gift, and not before. I’m leaving now, my queen.  Wanted to give you something to think about while I was gone.”

He was pressing something in hand, I could not even look down, my eyes were wide, my heart was pounding...and as he turned and walked out the door I realized it was the boot he had taken off.

I still felt the ring of my cunt, vibrating even as anger started to come over me. 

“Fucking Greyjoy!”

I screamed and threw the boot after him, but it was too late and it bounced off the closed door.

  
  


Fuck. Fucking Greyjoy. 

I breathed in until I was quite sure that any outward sign of anything untoward was quite gone. 

And then I grabbed the fucking boot, put it on and walked out the door.

 

I marched up to my chambers.   _ No.  _

I turned and walked towards the Queensguard. I didn’t know if Jaime would be there, but I needed ...something...from him. 

I opened his chambers unannounced and he stood up, quickly.  

Good. He was there. 

I could see the shadow of irritation on his face and I did not want to hear his voice, I did not want to see him, disapproving, angry and so I stopped it, stopped him.

Kissing Jaime is always surprising, always new, even though we must have kissed a thousand times, a million times.  I felt his mouth start to pull away and I pressed harder into him, grabbing his lip with my teeth, pulling him closer and closer to me and then back up against his bed. 

He hadn’t had time to say anything, good, good, shut up Jaime... _ I need you… _

I still didn’t let him speak, punishing his lips - _ that fucking Greyjoy _ \- and pulling the strings on my bodice with one hand while holding him down with the other, my fingers pressing against him until I felt the fabric give and I stood up and fairly pulled the fucking dress off myself. 

_ Finally. _ The air touched me, the breeze blew around me, and the soft O of Jaime’s mouth had been teased into something else...he would not say anything, now; his eyes were slanted, narrowed and his jaw had set.

I arched my back in front of him, feeling the air, feeling it all on me and saw as he worked his way out of his tunic.  Too slow.  _  That fucking hand, that other fucking hand… _

I pushed him back and pulled the cloth up, the satisfying noise of it ripping, ripping underneath my hands and the sight of him lying underneath me; only his trousers left in my way and those were gone as well.

I wanted him. It had been so long...

I wanted... _ something.. _

And I took it. 

I settled him back on the bed and took him, urgently, quickly, felt him under me, struggling at first to try to push me into his rhythm and then just letting me slide on him…

Relief came to me, came first as I climbed Jaime, climbed beyond him, triggered by him underneath me and that warm mouth on the innocent flesh right behind my knee…

I snarled as I came, it was not enough, it was gone too soon and I panted, panted over him. 

I could see the look on his face as he started to come down, the furrow again over his brow, more visible in the firelight by the sheen of sweat that had risen on his skin. 

“Cersei...we….”

_ Enough.  _

I couldn’t take it, I couldn’t take him and before he could say another word I pulled the stupid dress over my head and whirled out, Gregor waiting in the hall, silent, perfect Gregor, protecting me from harm and I walked from Jaime’s room, the last image of his face tainted with that disapproving look, his cum starting to slick down the inside of my thigh, my head raised even higher.

Safe inside my own chambers, banishing the useless chambermaid, another glass of wine and then another. 

A priceless gift and an armada, and King's Landing will be in my control again. 

I said it over and over in my head, glass after glass of wine, until I could sit no more and my fingers felt where Jaime had entered me.

That night in my dreams, the kraken, huge and black and fearsome, walked on land. 

  
  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

The Greyjoy had come and gone in just a day, but the Red Keep seemed strangely quiet once he’d left. 

I wondered how long it would take him, wondered how far those black sails would push him across the sea, wondered what a man like him would consider  _ precious _ . 

No matter. I had work to do. I spent hours, obsessing over the map painted on the wooden floor; the lines of the coast had to be painted over and over as I paced, thinking, thinking about Dorne, thinking about the North. 

_ Those traitors.  _

Every night I’d lie in bed and think about our enemies. So many enemies. So many fighting against the crown, against the true rulers of the realm.  I imagined their deaths; houses overrun by red and gold soldiers, their buildings burning.  

It was a hot joy, hot at the back of my throat, the brightness of it burning my eyes in the dark.  And then I’d think of the ones who didn’t deserve to die at the hands of a Lannister soldier; no, they deserved death at my hand, in front of my own eyes. 

Ellaria Sand, for poisoning my sweetest Myrcella.  And my own brother Tyrion, misshapen, poisoning Joffrey, his face purple at his own feast. 

Their deaths played out in my mind a million ways, a million times.  But always at the end I could see their eyes, see their dead eyes, left staring off into nowhere, into whatever fire and smoke they deserved.

Some nights I’d think of the Kraken, of his body winding around me, that smell of ocean and skin, that smirk. The smirk first, the intolerable cheek of him, the rudeness. It fed me.  And after all of it my hand, wettened by my own want, the only thing that was left when the images of his strange face, his blue lips had vanished from my mind. 

  
  
  


I had sent ravens to all of our banners.  They were our sworn men. Either they fought for the Lannisters or we would take them, take all of them.  I had instructed them to come to King’s Landing at the full moon.  We would discuss their loyalty.

The black cells had been readied, just in case anyone needed to be an example. An example of their own foolish pride, an example of what exactly happened to those that broke the oath that they made to the crown. 

And Qyburn, as a good hand does, had anticipated a weapon beyond my needs. Such a clever maester.

 

Jaime still stood around me, still clucking like one of the hens running near the stables. The sour smell of disapproval had started to wane, though: he had relaxed, once the Greyjoy was gone; he’d relaxed, and he’d even tried to put his hands on me again.

Tried. Succeeded. After the long frustrating days, waiting for our banners, talking with the small council about our reserves, about our armies and about the problems that the smallfolk continued to bring to us, night after night of my enemies dying in my mind’s eye, the only way I could relieve myself was by pushing Jaime down on the bed and impaling myself on him. 

The only way to escape it, all of it; and even then I’d finish and look down, and Jaime  _ still _ wasn’t enough, still didn’t have the spark, the bravery - the very Lion-ness of him, the perfection of him. 

Still, his cock - an escape from the thoughts that circled around in my head like so many rats in a passageway, the only way to actually  _ feel _ something. 

At the least he was starting to understand my plan.  We discussed, with the small council, exactly how to implement.  All of our banners joining the Lannister soldiers, swelling our ranks to impermeable numbers.  The Greyjoy at sea.  And striking our enemy as she landed on our shores, taking the cunt’s ships down as soon as the Targaryen whore left Dragonstone and tried to get closer to the throne. 

To my throne. 

 

\--

 

The banners were coming, and coming today. 

By my count we’d have at least a dozen houses join us.  The Tyrells might be almost gone, but the minor houses that supported them should still be aligned with us.  After all, their only flower left was an old lady, feeble. _ Growing strong.  _ Hardly. 

I couldn’t wait until she drew her last breath, until the Tyrell house crashed down on itself.

And I could not stop myself from looking out over the sea, looking for the billowing black sails.  He would return. He would return with my armada, and something else.  And he would cleanse the seas for me, cleanse them of my enemies. 

Jaime knew his role. His fucking pride. I had to appeal to him, to play the simplest of games with him for him to understand, to take what he was born into.  Protector of the realm, the whole realm.  And for any of the lords that decided they did not want to listen to me,  _ to me _ ...Jaime would be there remind them of where their loyalties lie. 

 

\---

They were all in the hall and I walked slowly to my throne, carefully twisting to sit, surveying them, dusty lords, all. 

They looked the worse for wear and for a moment I missed father, missed the way he had been able to snap them to attention. 

That foreign cunt. Bringing the hordes, the savage Dothrakis to Westeros, the disgusting eunuchs...the mad king’s daughter.

I spoke to them, to appeal to their decency, to their honor; starting to quake a bit as none of the banners seemed enthusiastic about their allegiance. 

Randall Tarly had the nerve to stand in front of all of them, to mention the dragons - propaganda, to spread fear in the rest of the lords.  A dragon can be beat. A dragon can be taken down. 

_ Just as all men can be. _

 

\--

 

Jaime left to speak with him, and came to me later that night with assurances of their loyalty, of the loyalty of all of the houses.  Tarly was no fool; when this was said and done he’d be made warden of the South.

But I’d tax him, even further, tax him right down to the bone to make sure that the sting of his disrespect to me was felt. 

 

\--

 

A raven. 

_ He was coming.  _

 

\--

 

When the black sails shone in the morning sunlight we gathered the smallfolk for a procession. Let the Greyjoy have his due. After all, whatever he was bringing me...was more than just the sum of it. It was his loyalty.  

The loyalty of the greatest armada Westeros had ever known. 

_ He was bringing me invincibility.  _

 

I could hear the crowds, shouting, and at times, booing. The Fucking Greyjoy.  What exactly was he doing to them? I’d assembled the lords, anyone of import in the Great Hall - I couldn’t run to the window to see him.

So I didn’t, and breathed in and out. I felt it, something. _ He was coming. He was coming. _ That excitement, something finally happening for us...it manifested, burning against me and I shifted my thighs to rub against the cold steel of the throne.  All of it happening, all of it happening now.

He rode into the hall on a great black destroyer.  The Kraken looked more comfortable on the horse than I anticipated.  And behind him...oh behind him, a grey rag of a woman on a chain, and then...the Dornish.  Ellaria Martell, and one of her daughters. 

Before he even spoke I felt incandescent. I’d been waiting for so long. 

He dismounted neatly and grabbed the Dornish whores, yanking the heavy iron chain so that they tumbled before me on the stairs. 

“My queen. Please accept this gift on behalf of all of your loyal subjects in the Iron Islands.  I give you what no other man could give.” He swept his arm towards Jaime, sad useless Jaime, standing there like a pictue next to Euron’s living spark.   “Justice. Justice for your murdered daughter.”

I swayed, gripping the side of the throne. Finally. Finally Myrcella would be avenged. 

The Dornish whore looked at me, spat at my feet.  If only she knew what I had planned for her...

I turned to the crowd.  Let them hear this, let them know that the Lannisters will continue to lead them.  “You’ve proven yourself the greatest captain of the fourteen seas.  And a true friend to the crown.” 

He leaned in closer to me and I could smell him again, that ephemeral scent that I had imagined, made even more heady by his return, by the grin on his face.   “You deserve  _ more _ than a true friend.”  

I shivered. “And you deserve a reward for your heroism.” Truly his madness was more than I anticipated. 

“There’s only one reward I want.”  His voice scraped lower, lower, lower as if it scraped my skin, as if it had it’s own form, touching me. 

I grit my teeth to stop myself from shaking.  “And you shall have what your heart desires.” 

I saw Jaime stiffen. I needed him, needed him too.  “When the war is won.” 

I’d have Euron before or after, it mattered not. But I could not lose the commander of my armies, even though Jaime would be loath to leave me.

I ignored Euron’s face, mouth open, shocked. I stood up and walked past him.  _ Later.  _

I addressed the crowd again.  Triumph, triumph filled me.  “With Euron Greyjoy commanding our naval forces, and Jaime Lannister leading our armies, the sons and daughters of Westeros shall defend our country.” 

“There’s nothing quite like it, is there? The  _ love _ of the people.” 

I watched him as he moved over towards Jaime. I couldn’t hear him, anymore - the people were rapturous, they were delirious in their applause.  _ Finally. _ Westeros was safe, safe from the daughter of the Mad King. 

He must have been torturing Jaime because I saw Jaime’s mouth turn into a grim line, saw the muscles of his cheeks starting to work, saw his eyes narrow. 

 

_ Enough.  _

 

Euron laughed, that much I could see, and gave another one of his ragged bows to the applause of the people. 

I nudged one of my Queensguard. “Keep him here tonight.”

I motioned to my hand, Qyburn ready as always, trying to still the smile that was spreading across my face. Anticipation was rising through me, hot, urgent; slicking me at the juncture of my thighs, even as each step was weighed down with the black leather cape.

Ellaria Martell waited for me below. 

And later, the Greyjoy would wait for me above.

  
  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

I barely had to turn my hand to motion, but of course Qyburn knows what I want to do.  His eyes are bright, eager: this is his favorite type of duty.

 

And Gregor, right behind me.

 

I feel safe with him; no man alive dare cross me with the Mountain at my side.  I haven’t looked at his face since that day; I no longer know if he is alive or if he is dead but he responds, he knows his place.  He is loyal.

All I ever needed, really. Loyalty.

I make my way, as serenely as possible, through the Keep and to the staircase.

I know that the Greyjoy is upstairs, preening, kept by my men; I know that the lords are milling, useless; I know that Jaime is hovering, I know that the smallfolk are still intoxicated by Euron’s little show.

What I’m most concerned about is deep below the Keep.

 

I can barely feel my feet as they brush the stones. My heart is thumping.

This is a dream come to life.

All the way down, we go, and the torches have been lit and I can see two figures ahead of me, barely hear their muffled noises, the clank of their chains.

 

The Dornish murderer, right there - right next to her smallest sandsnake.

 

Ellaria and Tyene. I wonder if Myrcella had taken a fancy to Tyene. She had been such a friendly girl, inquisitive. Perfect. I wonder if Ellaria had felt a twinge of sadness explaining Myrcella’s death, or if Tyene even knew.

 

No bother. She’d know soon enough.

 

The Dornish bitch heaved at her chains, her gag stopping any words but the hatred in her eyes unmistakable.   _Good. Hate me, cunt. Hate me with your every breath. Just as I hate, I hate you._

And her beautiful daughter, right there, terrified. An even trade.

“I want you to know I understand.” I stood, smiling at Ellaria.

“Even though we’re enemies, you and I, I understand the fear that drives you. I was there, that day, when Ser Gregor crushed your lovers head. I closed my eyes, I can hear the sound of Oberyn’s skull breaking, the sound of your scream...I never heard a sound like that. I thought: that’s true love.”

I could see the sadness mingled with the hate on her face. So much the better. I walked over to the man who killed her lover.

“Oberyn looked beautiful that day. No one ever had such skill. Even Ser Gregor couldn’t stop him. If only he hadn’t taunted him. He could’ve walked away and left poor Ser Gregor to die. But that wasn’t your lover’s way, was it? And now he’s buried...somewhere...and here’s Ser Gregor, stronger than ever.”

I could see her face contort in rage.

Good.

“When my daughter was taken from me, my only daughter...well, you can’t imagine how that feels unless you’ve lost a child.”

I closed my eyes for the briefest moment, remembering that silken hair, that easy smile. “I fed her at my own breast even though they told me to give her to the wet nurse. I couldn’t bear to see her in another woman’s arms. I never got to have a mother, but Myrcella did. She was mine.”

I could feel myself breaking apart, splintering into pieces, and the only thing that glued me together was knowing that soon this woman, this monster would pay. Oh Myrcella…

“She was mine. And you took her from me. Why did you do that?”

I breathed in.

“It doesn’t matter now.” The breath exited my body like a ragged shadow, like a ghost.

I looked over at Tyene, her brown eyes wide.

“Your daughter’s a beauty, too. Those brown eyes, those lips...perfect Dornish beauty. I imagine she’s your favorite.”

I laughed, thinking of Joffrey, so...difficult, compared to sweet Myrcella, placid Tommen.

“I know, I know we’re not supposed to have favorites, but still, we’re only human. We love who we love.”

Ellaria was making noise, rattling her chains, the sound of her muted by the gag that Euron had so kindly put in her mouth.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t understand you. The gag makes it impossible to hear what you’re saying. It must be frustrating. We all make our choices. You chose to murder my daughter.”

That fucking cunt, that bitch, she would burn, she would burn inside, I would watch her go mad, I would rain down every single pain I could think of. _This bitch murdered my sweet Myrcella, and she was so innocent, so innocent, so…_

She lunged at me, useless, the chains stopping her, the desperation making her eyes so wide.

I smirked. “You must have felt powerful. Do you feel powerful now?”

“I thought about having Ser Gregor crush your skull the way he did to Oberyn. But too fast, no, much too fast. And then I thought about having him crush this beautiful girl, but the thought of it, crushing her skull like a duck-egg...well, I just couldn’t.”

I walked over to the Dornish girl, looking at her brown eyes, wide with fear; I could see her body shaking. As I took the gag out of her mouth I saw her perfect lips, the white teeth, the fear that permeated her whole body.

I took her head in my hands and kissed her; holding her I allowed my lips to play against hers. Soft, they were soft and full and I drank her in, just for a moment.

_Just long enough._

The Dornish girl was no fool; she must have tasted something awry and those big brown eyes widened.

“Mama!” She breathed, her sweet girlvoice so much like Myrcella’s.

At least Ellaria could hear her child one last time.

Myrcella came home on a ship, her body already cold, Jaime dying right next to her.

Ellaria’s face twisted with the realization of what I’d done.

I wiped off the poison with a cloth and Qyburn, right next to me, handed me a small flagon of the antidote. Clever, clever Qyburn.

“The long goodbye, isn’t it?” I asked  him.

“The long farewell,” he replied, matter-of-fact.

Ellaria was getting frantic.

“How long does the poison take?” I asked him, as if asking how long it took a raven to fly from Harrenhal, as if asking if he thought the sun would come out.

“Difficult to say; hours, days, depending on the subject’s constitution.”

I looked at Tyene. She was healthy, a bouncing radiant girl. Just as Myrcella was.

I felt my mouth twist. “But death is certain?”

Qyburn was reassuring. “Oh, yes, your Grace; quite certain.”

I could feel myself respond to Ellaria Sand’s pathetic display; her mouth was twisted, underneath that gag; her eyes were tortured, frantic. I responded with a smile.

  


Ellaria Sand would watch her daughter die, die in front of her; she would watch her rot, watch her flesh wither, watch it turn putrid the way of all dead things; Ellaria would watch her bones start to poke through the flesh and someday that would be all that was left of her beautiful daughter.

I told her all of this, told her how she’d see her daughter’s last moments, each of them.

And with the greatest satisfaction, I saw her die a little bit inside, even before the poison had hit the young Dornish girl’s system: I smiled, because even before Tyene died, Ellaria was already gone. She’d watch her daughter waste away, watch the blood spurt of her mouth, watch as the cold shadow of death came over her and took every single thing away from her.

Just as she had done to me.

When I walked away from her I could hear them, straining and clanking to be together, but nevermore. Qyburn had made sure of that; their chains were just long enough to come close, but not close enough to touch.

They’d be locked, locked in a stillborn embrace, never to be realized, ever again.

As I walked away from them I felt my steps start to lighten, felt them start to become more and more sure.

_Myrcella I have avenged you, I have avenged myself. The daughter will die, just as you did. The mother will suffer, agonize, just as I did.  By all that is holy, if there is anything holy in this world; this justice completes the circle._

As I got closer to my quarters I felt almost rapturous.

_I have paid you back, my sweetest, my most beloved daughter. I have made this right, and I have done it just for you._

And I have done it because of the Kraken.   _Given me what no other man could give._

“Bernadette!” I called; she was there, somewhere, withering in the shadows.

My handmaiden emerged from the hallway. 

“Ready a bath for me.”

She bowed. Her hair, shorn like mine - I couldn’t bear to look at her hair after they took mine, and now I looked at the shaggy mass of it, supplicant.

“And Bernadette, make sure the Greyjoy knows to come to my chambers when I am finished.”

I saw a shadow of confusion cross her face and leave it just as quickly.

“That will be all.”

  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

The sound of my boots, ringing on the stone, was the only proof that I was still earthbound, for leaving Ellaria Sand weeping in my own dungeon had given me a feeling of weightlessness, of floating like a feather back up to my suite.

It had been so long since I had been able to give justice to my enemies - and so much had happened since then.

 

_The cold wind had blown on us, even in King’s Landing._

 

But Ellaria - just knowing that she was down there was enough.  Oh, I’d visit her - _of course_ I would. It’s always the burden of a woman to care too much, to make sure that everything was as it should be.  And I cared, deeply, that Ellaria Sand never forgot why she was locked in my dungeon.

 

It didn’t have to be like that.

But she chose to kill Myrcella, and now the price is hers to pay.

 

_Perhaps the winds were changing._

 

I could feel my smile across my face as I walked, saw the quizzical looks of the servants, of the lords scattered amongst the castle like so many useless pigeons; their drab faces saw mine and dropped.  Did they expect me to _sorrowfully_ dispatch my enemy?

 

Gregor thumped behind me.

At my suite I gave the orders.  There was crab brought from White Harbor; I suppose the Greyjoy might as well dine on it.  A nod to him and his people.   We’d sup in my chambers; my apartment was certainly spacious enough.  And it would allow the kind of privacy, from Jaime, from the rest of my Queensguard, to really understand Euron’s intentions.

Perhaps to thank him.

Unbelievable that in the space of a moon he was able to bring me Ellaria Sand.  I wondered what else he could do, if given the right incentive. I had always admired efficiency.

Jaime would be apoplectic; he’d mope and he’d lecture me, platitudes and warnings better reserved for suspicious peasants.  But he’d never leave me.

I needed to make sure that the Greyjoy felt the same loyalty.

 

\--

The dining table in my apartment was decked with flowers; the servants had lit every taper and torch and the room was almost too warm, even though the nights were starting to chill.  Bernadette dressed me; I still chose black, although the gown was a nod to my former self; the neckline was low, and a tangle of black rosettes were embroidered on the silk; a roaring lion in gold thread on each shoulder.  The light silk felt good against my skin.  My crown rested in my hair, and around my neck a tangle of emeralds on thick golden chain; the weight of them would bump my skin if I moved too quickly.

My cupbearer brought me a goblet of wine and vanished, mercifully, and I took it to the window overlooking Blackwater Bay.

His ships, his ships were out there. The only ones visible were closest to the land; the rest I just had to trust remained, black ships on a black sea.

 

_My ships. And my seas._

 

And my betrothed. The thought was funny; I wryly smiled, wondering if I was supposed to be nervous. I thought of Sansa, of Margeary; sniveling girls waiting for their true love. 

Pathetic.

There was a bell ringing and one of the servants moved to the door of my apartment.

 

_He’s here._

I didn’t move, when he arrived; I heard his steps and those of my servants behind him; heard Gregor shuffle into place at his post some dozen feet away from me.

 

Once the footsteps stopped, I turned.

To see him, as rough and black and dangerous as he’d ever been, no hint of a smile on his face as his eyes moved slowly over me, not moving a muscle.

Finally he looked me in the eye.

“My queen.”  

Then the sly smile turned the corner of his mouth up, raising an eyebrow.

 

“I trust you enjoyed your gift.”

 

_Indeed._

“It will give me a lifetime of pleasure.” I smiled at him from behind my goblet. In fact I still felt weightless. Joyful. _It had been so long._

 

I looked at him. “Come now. You’re here for such a short time before you head off again. Sup with me.”

I nodded across the room and before we had even made it over to the table, him silent behind me, the servants had come with the crab, still steaming; radishes swirled into little rosettes, stalks of asparagus as green as summer grass; nasturtium flowers, their peppery taste disguised by their blossoms adorned a platter of venison.

I allowed the cupbearer to fill my glass and watched Euron look over the table and to me and then waved them all off again, all of them; I wanted to know that the only eyes on me were his big, blue ones.

 

And then with the clank of the door, that was all I had.

 

He _changed_ when the door shut.

He stood up and walked over to me, so suddenly that I felt for a moment that perhaps sending Gregor off had been a miscalculation.  He walked right up to me and stood so closely to me that he was scarce a foot away from me; I had to crane my neck to look up to his face.  His legs in leather trews right in front of me, the black of his tunic tucked; his coat was dark blue, heavy. Wool and leather, and one long leather leg placed so close to my own that I could move my knee and brush him.

His eyes were burning down into mine, still with that halfsmile playing across his face.

“A lifetime of pleasure from the Dornish bitch?  Daresay you’ll enjoy your time with me. I’m far more entertaining.”

I breathed in. He certainly wasn’t humble. For a moment the giddiness of Ellaria faded; what was he doing so close to me?  Something stopped me from pushing him away, even though he didn’t touch me, yet.  It was that look across his face, as if he had the biggest jape to tell me, as if he had a handful of my enemies souls in his pocket, ready to give me.

And he was solid, solid in front of me, the shape of him not like Jaime, certainly not like Robert’s bloated, disgusting form.  He was solid, strong.

“You certainly are optimistic.” I found myself, found my words and looked up at him, trying to narrow my eyes.

He put a hand on the back of my chair so that he was well and truly hanging over me and smiled again.

“I prefer to say that I’m a realist. It’s always good to know one’s competition.  If placed between your sister - I mean, your brother, Jaime, who acts like a Septa at lessons or that squirming little she-bitch Ellaria - well, if the two _of them_ are how you enjoy your days, _I’m_ about to turn your whole world upside down.”

He was presuming too much, too much. I could not allow him the insolence, nor the proximity to me.  I considered calling Gregor back into the room.

But the thing about the Greyjoy is that I never quite knew what he’d do next. And after a lifetime of being able to see right through people, it was refreshing.

I certainly didn’t expect him to reach one hand down and put his finger on my skin, right under my jaw, right by my ear.

HIs hand was rough. His finger found purchase and my head was angled up towards him. My jaw was trapped.  He was standing so close to me - with my every breath, I smelled him, skin and salt and sea.

 

No one touched me like that.

 

I couldn’t let it stand.

 

“Just what do you think you’re doing, Greyjoy?” I hissed at him, my face set, the words bumping up against my teeth as they left my mouth, staring at his eyes, that madness in them, that smiling madness, and something else, something darker.

I realized that right in front of me his cock was pushing at the leather of his trousers, realized at that moment with his finger roughly under my chin, that I could feel myself starting to awaken underneath the back silk.  His other arm, leaning over my chair, had trapped me as well; I could not get up without moving into his arms.

His finger dug in deeper under my jaw and then moved, quickly, lightly underneath my chin, a fingertip dragging down the line of my neck just above the necklace I had chosen just a few moments before.

“In some parts of the world, they call this _worship_ ,” his words sang out, mockingly, and then suddenly his mouth had moved to mine.

I squirmed against him at first, grabbing at his arms to push him away; he presumes, oh he presumes, anyone else would be dead immediately, steel through their heart...and then I stopped thinking that, because his mouth kept pushing and pushing at me, the lips soft but his teeth, his tongue brutal. His taste, the smokiness of it, saltiness and a sweetness like rum, jarring with a harsh edge.

He was unafraid of me.  Perhaps the first.

I felt a wave of anger at that.  The Greyjoy.  I bit him back, felt myself start to push up against him, his mouth so insistent.  My body was humming, ready for him, ready to fight back against his plundering.

But it felt like I was kissing an equal and the power of his kiss was something that I had not felt in so long.  

And then his mouth moved away and just as suddenly as he’d moved over to me he dropped on one knee in front of me.

“Worship, my queen. It’s only fitting.” That smile again, that madman smile on his face, his lips wet from me.  

I couldn’t help look at the shape of him through his pants, how tightly they clung to him as he knelt, the one knee up.

An equal. I wanted him. He couldn’t know that, though, he couldn’t have that power over me.

“That’s how you worship your queen. Like any common whore, you grab me. I should call Gregor in here. He’d run you through in a second.” I tried to summon that coldness in my eyes, looking at him as he knelt, a common subject, in front of me…

“I’m a lot less exciting when I’m dead,” he cocked his head and smiled again and I could not help my eyes from moving back down to his trousers again, the hot skin beneath was straining for me…

My resolve was weakening. “I thought you Greyjoys lived by the creed of _what is dead may never die._ ”

He nodded and the smile that had been playing on his face spread all the way across it, and his eyebrow raised as he smirked. “ _But rises again harder and stronger_.”

It was as if an arrow had been loosed from its bow. With that he stood up, his hands gripping me around my waist and then and lifting me like a child, so swiftly, picking me up and before I could react he had taken me out of the dining room of my apartment and into the parlor steps away.

I twisted but his arms were too strong. _No one touched me like this. No one dared._..and then I found myself on the flat of my back on one of the sofas and felt the black silk of my dress lifted.

_Harder and stronger._

The weightlessness of earlier, the joy of Ellaria, all of it materialized in my cunt, with this insolent Greyjoy above me; stroking the length of my leg with his fingertip and then pushing the hem of my dress up so that I was exposed to him.

I wriggled.

“No smallclothes?” He laughed. “No, you’re not humble. Even that golden cunt can’t be caged.” The little spark of anger came again to me and I started to sit up until one of his fingers moved, moved into me; I was so ready for him that it slid inside of me, and that big finger was joined by another, and then oh he had pinned me, pinned the little place inside of me, and for the most fleeting moment they moved around me and then he pinched me, hard; he stilled his fingers and it was all I could do to keep my hips still, to not try to push the sensation even further.

He stared at me, a man that had a delicious feast in front of him, keeping his fingers firm, rough, still on my clit, staring between my legs, and I could not stand it, I could not stand the stillness and a noise halfway between a growl and a whimper came out of my throat unbidden.

It moved him, and his face met mine and I could see him, see the desire in him, a dark thing, dark like his ships like the sea like the blackness in all of us, and to see it so naked on his face was almost too much…

And then his hands were gone and he was pulling off his tunic and I saw the scars, scars all over him, the dark blue ink of tattoos all over his chest, strange symbols of faraway lands, his body so muscled and thick and strong, and then he pulled down his trousers and his cock sprang towards me, thick and beautiful and blue and the head of it monstrous, jumping toward me as I looked at it, fascinated…

This is control, to have him so ready for me, this is control, his body mine for the taking, this is power, receiving not yielding as the most powerful man on the seas is mine for the taking…

Naked in front of me he put his hands on the black silk and ripped it hem to neck, pulling at my boots until I was as naked as he was in front of him, still on the sofa.

I could still feel my crown, digging into my head; how it had not fallen off I do not know, but it was the last thing I thought of as suddenly he descended upon me, ravenous.

His mouth felt so fucking good, his teeth scraped around my breast and his hands were all over me, that roughness of him; he was moving over me and I felt the edge of his cock stutter against the skin of my thigh, that dark thing, so close…

I wanted his mouth, I wanted him and I remembered myself, for if he rules the seas I rule the earth and I started to push back, push him back, rising up against him I took his lips in my teeth and pulled him to move up, up, we will do this my way, or not at all…

He was sitting and I was over him and then his fingers oh - those fingers moved into me again and I could not, would not stop myself from moving against them, those insolent fingers finding me and pushing up against me, the other hand up to my breast, a painful pinch of the nipple just as the first pushed deeper into me, another finger added and…

He pushed me again, he moved me until I was standing and then he knelt beneath me, worship indeed, and his lips moved to my cunt and he lapped at it as if he were a man dying, and then his teeth and tongue were everywhere and warm and not and the contrast between the sharp teeth and the lips that came to soothe was too much.

 

_Worship indeed._

 

I felt myself spasm a bit, warm vibrations starting move through me even deeper now, and he stood up with his face wet with my pleasure, his eyes narrowed, his voice deeper, serious, low.

“Lick it off me. Lick it up, my queen.”

My tongue did not hesitate and it moved over his mouth, sucking on the edge of his lip, my own tang, and his finger caught the space between my jaw and my neck again and then I was suddenly subservient to him; trapped, his mad cruelty with the lust, and as I sucked the last of myself out of his mouth he groaned again and then pushed me down.

That anger flickered up again, _how dare he_ , and then I was almost to my knees and his cock was in front of me and he threaded his fingers in my hair and pushed the top of the crown down against my head, roughly, and all I wanted was him in my mouth and so I took him, took him in.

 

So much wider than Jaime, so very different.

 

The dark vein at the base of his cock was almost black and as thick as my finger and I felt it straining, straining under my tongue.  I sucked at it, pulling my mouth all the way up and under his cock until the split of the head, circling the ridge of it with my tongue and then plunging, plunging it into my mouth, choking as it got too deep.

He moved and adjusted his stance, pushing my head deeper and as I choked all I could think was that cock, that cock _in me_ and I sucked on it furiously as if that would make it get even bigger.

He was groaning, the Greyjoy was saying something but I could not hear any words, all I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears and the sound of my mouth, wet on him, and I needed something, something else and one of my hands moved lower to satisfy myself while I…

And when he saw my hand move he pulled himself out of my mouth and picked me up, carrying me up against a wall, rough against my back, and then without a word he impaled me on himself, too much and it was almost painful, as painful as a maiden as I sunk down on him.

 

Fucking felt so good.

 

His eyes were rolled to the back and he just let me sink on him, his mouth up and down my neck, and then his hand under my ass, pushing his finger behind me, his finger reaching up, slipping into the other with his cock in my cunt and it felt so good, and slamming me against the wall, pulling me down on him harder he filled me and I _had_ to grip down on him because I was _there, there…_

I snarled as I came and bit him on the shoulder, _hard, fuck_...and felt his cock release and shudder and pulse.

He held me there, pinned up against the wall, my feet barely touching the ground, my body boneless, only held up by his hands and the head of his cock.

As his breathing steadied he started to let me down again, my feet were flat on the floor and then he was on his knees, licking the seed that had started to leak down my thigh with the flat of his tongue, tracing big circles on the side of my hip with his fingernails as he did so.

When he pulled away from me his eyes were bright, insane.  He smirked again, and then his tongue snaked out around his lips.

 

“Worship, my queen.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> quick little two / three chap fic from the seeds of their interaction in S7.


End file.
